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Night bathes a knight in darkness, but it makes no difference to him. Blind and it's not the helmet’s doing, nor the night’s, nor the shadows of the woods his stede hurdles him through. The frantic pedal of hooves along the uneven forest floor echoes like thunder in his ears. A sound just barely distinguishable from the thunder of the storm that rages, vengeful and merciless, above him. Rain cascading down like liquid hellfire. The most impure of baptisms. A drowning.
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Arthur is a knight traveling to a monastery in search of answers about the voice in his head. Will he find the answers he’s searching for? Will he find more beyond it? Only time, will tell.
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